yay, more story

More storyness. And in case you get confused, the parts that aren't in italics are things that have already happened before - the dream Timria had, and an interaction with her father.

Timria sat in her chair, picking at the folds of her pleated skirt. Lanif studied her, looking concerned. As is she sensed this, sh picked up her pen and poised it over her notebook, ready to take down observations. She gazed into the beaker of murky, red liquid.


It won't go away. Nothing will make it go away. I can't get it off...I can't get it off!

her father's arm, brushing hers. The glass, its lips, and there are shattered pieces all over the ground. The sharp edge slits her palm open, and there's blood...

the red seeps to purple, and then everything is black and still...a dark figure staggers forward, holding his face in his hands. He falls to his knees...

Timria....Tim....ria

Come back! Please!

Follow truth, Timria...Timria....Tim...


"...ria?" Lanif put his hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. "Timria!" Her pupils focused and her body jolted. "What's wrong?" he asked, his hand still on her shoulder.
"N-Nothing, I just...I'm tired, is all." Her hand jerked across the page, taking notes. Lanif looked at her worriedly, saying nothing. "What? I couldn't sleep last night! I'm tired."
"Maybe...that's fine, Timria. I just wish you would tell me what's wrong, but if you don't feel like you can, then there isn't really much I can do about it...." Lanif opened up his notebook and took his own notes.

Timria looked at him, and in that instant she wanted to cry. He truly cared about her...she was just being a jerk. And yet, she couldn't exactly tell him, either. "Yeah, I'm having dreams about blood, and some voice talking to me, and it's scaring the hell out of me, well, thanks for listening, talk to you later!" No, not a great idea. Maybe she would tell him...not now, though.

untitled

This is not related to my story. I found it in my tablet of paper and decided to put it in here.

The voices, the hurtful statements
The confiding of pain, loneliness;
The tears, the sobs that only she hears.

The words always come to her,
helplessness evolves to resolve
but their pain becomes hers.

A girl is crying,
Begging on her knees
and unable to step forward.

No one comes. There are no footsteps.
She crumples, defeated and pathetic,
and sheds her tears of despair.

The words come easily to heal others,
make them see.
But she can never lead them too far
because they'll turn into her.

A bitter, pathetic little girl
with nothing except a hope, a wish
of something that will never come true.